Strange Bedfellows
by goldensnitch18
Summary: A collection of one shots and drabbles with rare pairs (at least for me.)
1. Entwined - Sproutmaster

**Entwined**

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 **Rated T**

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 **Summary:** Pomona's darlings are up to something.

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 **Disclaimer:** I am not profiting from this story. Anything you recognize belongs to the great and mighty JKR.

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 **Beta Magic:** Many thanks to **oblivionbaby** for your time on this story. Love you dear!

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 **Awards:** Somehow this weird little story written in response to a prompt manages to win some awards. Best Humor, Best Pairing I Didn't Know I Needed, Runner Up Most Creative Use of Mistletoe, and Loudest "Aww" in the Quills and Parchment Under the Mistletoe OS competition. Thank you for voting for me everyone. I love this story a little bit and I'm glad you all did too!

Pomona knew they were up to something the moment her hand touched the door. She was always able to feel them, her children. When they were longing for comfort or going through a particularly manic state, she felt every emotion with them. Sometimes, the sensations were so overwhelming that they began to affect her own views of the day and the world around her. As her fingertips touched the doorknob in the soft light of dusk on Christmas Eve, mischief travelled up her arm like lightning. _Of course_. _Up to something._

She slid the door softly open, her wand held tightly in her other hand. At first, she struggled to understand what was happening, but, within moments, the situation became clear. "Severus!" she cried, stepping forward towards the Potions professor, intending to help free him. He was wrapped in vines in front of the Alihotsy, struggling to free himself.

"No!" he replied, but it was too late. Her wand hand been plucked from her grasp as her body was tightly wrapped by firm green ropes. She let out a startled cry.

"What are you doing?" Pomona demanded. "Stop this madness this instant! You should be ashamed of yourselves!" All around the room, leaves shook as if in laughter.

"Are they …" the man began, but one look from her sharp eyes cut him off.

"What did you do to them?" she hissed. Severus had always been very respectful of her babies in the past. After all, he was the only other person she permitted access to this particular greenhouse, _her_ greenhouse. This was where she kept her personal plants, the ones she treasured above all else. He had proven himself trustworthy, and she had granted him access to this place, her haven, and given him permission to gather his own materials when he needed them.

"I haven't done anything to them!" he told her, indignant. "I was minding my own business, pruning the Alihotsy leaves for my sixth years' Laughing Potions next term, and then they were attacking me! The whole place went mad."

"Were you singing?" she asked, incredulous. She had found years ago that the only way to calm that particular child of hers was with a little music. The Alihotsy was currently partial to Celestina Warbeck. She had taught the trick to Severus, and he had since refused to collect the leaves he needed unless he was alone. "You know how he gets if you don't sing the -"

"Of course I was singing," he hissed, as if she was an utter fool for suggesting otherwise. The laughter of the leaves stopped, and a vine yanked Severus' hair, pulling his head back hard before it quickly released him.

"I don't think they like you snapping at me," she informed him, smug.

"I wasn't snapping at you, _Pomona_ ," he lied.

"Well, I was just asking a question, _Severus,_ " she placed the same silky emphasis on his name as he had hers.

"How do you know I've done something? They were perfectly fine until you showed up," he said curtly.

Her mouth fell open, her cheeks growing a vibrant red in her fury. "Are you suggesting that my precious darlings would -"

"Your precious darlings," the words dripped out of his mouth like acid, "have their arms wrapped around us in a vice right now. I'm prepared to suggest them capable of quite anything."

Pomona opened her mouth again, ready to retort, but at that very moment, the vines holding her in place shoved her forward. She had to quickly shift her feet as her body moved towards the man across the room. He watched her approach, his eyes wide and uncertain. When she was about a foot from him, she suddenly stopped. "What are they doing?" she muttered, not so much to Severus as to herself. Her children had never done anything quite so off kilter before. They were temperamental sometimes, they all went through their stages, but this? This was something bordering on madness. "Lovelies," she said a little louder, adopting the motherly voice she always used to address them, "please let us go. We're so very sorry if we have upset you." She glared at Severus when she was done. He rolled his eyes at her.

"Oh, yes, very sorry," he said. His tone made it very clear that he was not sorry at all. There was no way the plants would accept that piss poor apology if they were upset with him. She was about to open her mouth to speak again when she heard the humming begin. "Oh, Merlin's sodding -" he said as the vines holding him pushed Severus two inches closer to her.

"Oh, no," she said softly, the color draining from her face.

Severus moved his eyes to her face, taking in her expression, clearly confused. "What is it?"

"They've lost their bloody minds," she murmured as she saw it climbing the wall behind him. She had known. She had already sussed it out, she could feel their mirth, feel their intention in her soul. "Oh my-"

"What?" Severus asked, trying desperately to turn, but the vines around his body prevented this.

"This is _not_ funny!" Pomona snapped, looking around the greenhouse at her children. "You will stop this nonsense this instant." The leaves began to shake again, laughing along with the hum of the holiday melody from the corner. She closed her eyes tightly, waiting for Severus to be able to see, to look up. She could feel the heat climbing in her cheeks as she thought about what they wanted her to do. She had been so stupid. She had told them, _how many times?_ She was lonely. Severus was kind to her, a rarity to be sure, and probably having more to do with her greenhouses than her. They were little more than teenagers. She should have known.

"You have got to be kidding me," he drawled. Pomona felt herself shoved forward unceremoniously, and her eyes shot open to find her face inches from his.

"I'm so sorry, Severus. I don't know why they are doing this," she assured him, her eyes wide. He looked down from the sprig of mistletoe which had settled above them.

"This is what happens when you're too soft on them, Pomona. I've told you," he said.

"Yes, I'm aware that you've told me," she sighed, rolling her eyes at his ability to lecture, even in this situation.

"Do you think there is any chance of them letting us off the hook?" he asked. In answer, the humming increased in volume, the mistletoe wiggled above them, and a light dusting of snow began to fall from the sky. "I could slice them all, you know," he muttered.

"If you cut my plants, Severus Snape, it will be the last thing you do." Her voice was cold, devoid of any emotion.

He sighed. "Fine." He looked about, and the vines pushed him an inch closer. Severus leaned in and closed his eyes. Pomona followed suit.

Their lips touched softly at first, hesitant and polite, or cold and indifferent depending on how you chose to look at it. Either way, the greenhouse was clearly not satisfied with their efforts.

They were shoved together until their bodies touched. Quite without warning, Severus added pressure, his lips sliding more forcefully against hers. The kiss was warm, and heat flooded her. She tried to forget that he was only doing this because of her silly children and let herself remember every sensation of his lips on hers.

"Could you give me my bloody arms?" he mumbled, barely above a whisper, but the vines obeyed, pulling back from just his arms, allowing him to place one hand at her waist, pulling her closer as his other hand moved to her neck. He leaned in again, kissing her fervently as his thumb rubbed soft circles into the skin just below her ear. As he kissed her, Pomona felt the vines slowly slip away from her own arms. She rested her hands gently on his chest before she let them slowly move upwards to wrap around his neck. Many long minutes later, they stood, still entwined, in the middle of her greenhouse, snow softly falling onto them, music filling the air, and not a single vine holding them in place.


	2. Rough Hands - Paneville

**Strange Bedfellows**

A collection of one shots and drabbles with rare pairs (at least for me.)

See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.

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 **Rough Hands**

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 **A Paneville Drabble** by **Goldensnitch18**

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 **Rated M** for Scenes of a Sexual Nature

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This is a ridiculously short drabble I wrote to go along with an aesthetic I made for my tumblr. You can find it on my blog there (goldensnitch-18) under the tag Paneville if you would like to see it! Also, if you are one of my Dramione readers, please go to my tumblr and find a letter I wrote for you. You can scroll down a couple posts to find it or just search the tag Love Letter.

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"If you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you," Pansy hissed as his fingertips slid up her thigh. They were rough, just as she expected they would be. He was a man who was always working with his hands.

"Who would I tell?" he asked, whispering the question into her neck before his lips sucked at her skin.

"I don't know. You do have friends." She pushed the button of his shirt out of the loop and moved down to the next button, her heart racing.

She had just come to discuss paperwork with him. That was all. Her boss was too lazy to make the trip himself, so he had sent her a letter that morning demanding she take care of the inspections the Ministry must perform before the students arrived for the new year. McGonagall had been too busy to see her, so she had been stuck with Longbottom, only he was different, and she was suddenly in the abandoned library with him, and she was going to shag him. Merlin, she was desperate.

"I'm not going to tell," he said. The hand on her thigh slid up, pushing her dress up to her waist. Pansy's head fell back against the wall as those rough fingers looped around her knickers.


	3. After the Party - Romione

**After the Party**

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 **Rated M to be Safe**

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 **Summary:** Pomona's darlings are up to something.

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 **Disclaimer:** I am not profiting from this story. Anything you recognize belongs to the great and mighty JKR.

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Happy Birthday to our King, Ron Weasley! This little Drabble/OS was written for the Ron's Birthday Drabble Post in the Quills & Parchment group for writers and betas on Facebook.

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Ron pulled at his shirt, revealing wet, bruised skin as he lifted it over his head. It was sodden with rain and mud. It had been a very long day at work. Then everyone had met for a quidditch match at the Burrow. They didn't care that it had been pouring, rain soaking through their clothes within minutes. They didn't care that they were shivering as they flew. It had been so long since they could all make time for a game. It was all he had asked them for, a match in the field by their parent's house on his birthday. His mother had made it a party, providing dinner and cake.

His hands dropped the mess of a jumper onto the tile floor before his fingers moved to the button on his jeans. He pulled it open, shoving down at his pants at the same time, moving through the motions. He had a bottle of Firewhisky waiting for him and would have a glass before bed. As much as he hated paperwork, he and Harry had been doing far too much field work lately for his liking. He came home exhausted often, ready to fall into bed. Tonight, this mixed with the exertion of a competitive game of Quidditch had him almost wishing he could skip the shower.

Instead, he stepped into the stream. His eyes fell closed as the hot water washed away the rain and dirt while also soothing his aching body. He sighed as he lifted his arms over his head and rested his forehead against the wall. Shivers of relief moved from his back throughout his body. He stood under the water for several long minutes, enjoying the satisfaction of just being still.

When he felt the tentative touch of fingertips on his back, Ron jumped, nearly slipping onto his ass as he twisted around, his eyes flying open. Hermione stood before him, climbing into the shower, a shy smile on her face. "What – Her – What are you doing here?" he sputtered, very aware that they were both very naked. It wasn't that they had never been naked together, of course. They had dated for four years, but that had ended two months ago. She had moved out of his flat, and things had been tense since. Trying to navigate what life would be like as just friends again was much more difficult than either of them anticipated.

"It's your birthday," she said, biting her lip as the water started to sprinkle onto her skin. He tried not to stare at the droplets rolling down from her shoulders to her breasts, but it had been far too long since he had seen them, felt them, tasted them.

"But, you're naked," he insisted, rather dumbly.

"I wanted to give you your present," she said, moving the few steps required to be standing an inch from his body. The water hitting her hair and back now. Ron glanced down at her lips, wanting more than anything to close the space, but this was madness.

"You could have come to the party," he told her.

"It isn't that kind of present." Her hand slid up his chest, and he felt his heart race beneath her touch. One hand continued to rise up his neck and into his hair, and she was pulling him down, pressing their lips together with earnest.

"Hermione … this is mad," he murmured, but his hands were at her hips, pulling her close. They had made their decision, neither one of them doing it lightly. They had both been miserable, just going through the motions.

"I know," she said back, her words tickling his lips, "but, I want to give you this. I want …" she rested her cheek against his, and he didn't need to see her face to know that there were tears there. "Just one more night, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered into her hair. "I love you," he added, and she nodded.

"I love you, too. Happy Birthday, Ron."

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 **A/N: Hope you enjoy this little thing!**

 **xoxo**

 **Meg**


	4. His - Blinny

**Strange Bedfellows**

A collection of one shots and drabbles with rare pairs (at least for me.)

See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.

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 **His**

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 **A Blinny Drabble/One Shot**

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 **GoldenSnitch18**

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 **Rated M** for Scenes of a Sexual Nature

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"Why did you come here with him?" Blaise asked. He had shut and locked the door firmly behind him, ensuring their privacy. He was not interested in being interrupted.

Ginny glanced back over her shoulder as she made her way towards the desk. He had no idea who the desk belonged to, and he honestly didn't care. "He buys my drinks."

"It's a Ministry function," he reminded her. "The drinks are free."

"Why do you care?" she asked. She had reached the desk and settled herself at its edge.

He followed her, taking his place between her legs. His hand settled on her thigh as slid up under her skirt. "You know why," he told her darkly.

"I'm not going to stop dating because you like pushing my dress up."

"I told you to come alone." He had whispered in her ear at Draco's promotion party two weeks ago. She had been bent over a couch at the time, distracted by him sliding inside of her, but he knew she had heard him.

"I don't like being ordered around." She crossed her arms across her chest, which only pushed her breasts closer to his eyes. "Anyways, you seemed to appear with Daphne Greengrass."

"She is a friend," he told her. It was true enough. He and Daphne had fucked a few times, but not in months. Not since this.

"Harry is a friend," Ginny countered.

"He was more than a friend." It wasn't the same at all. She had been in love with Potter at some point. That had never been a risk with Daphne and him.

"Not anymore," she promised, meeting his gaze.

"How can I trust that?" he asked.

"I honestly don't care if you do or not." She looked away towards the door, and he tried to control his emotions, tried to distract himself. His fingers moved to beneath the soft, silky fabric covering her lips.

"Does he do this?" he asked. He stroked the fabric gently before pushing it aside. He tasted her neck, breathing in the scent of her perfume mixing with something that was just her and so damn intoxicating.

"He has," she said. He pushed aside his annoyance, knowing that she was just saying it to annoy him, to drive him mad, which she very good at. Instead of responding, Blaise removed his fingers from her and pulled at the silk, fucking green of course, sliding it down her exquisite legs. They were freckled as well. Every inch of her was freckled, and he desired to taste each one.

His eyes met hers, watching her closely as she licked her lips expectantly. He knew that she was waiting for him to move forward, to reach for his buckle, to push inside of her, to cure the ache he was currently ignoring in his trousers, but he would not. He held her gaze as he dropped to his knees, pushing her legs apart. Her midnight blue dress slid even further up her thighs, revealing her perfect lips to him as her eyes grew dark with lust. She knew now, knew that he would taste her, would make every second about satisfying her.

He leaned towards her heat, relishing in the feel of her skin against his cheek. His tongue slid out slowly, and then with one long swipe of his tongue, he made her moan and clench the edge of the oak desk on either side of her knees. Her audible pleasure made him smirk even as his tongue began to swirl around the sensitive nub at the head of her core. "Zabini," she whispered, and he knew that she was _his_. She was always _his_. This was the game they played, dancing this way and that, neither ever really committing to what they wanted, but she was his, and he was, without a single doubt, _hers_. When his fingers moved back inside her wet center, she tightened around him, tensing against the sensations. He persisted, licking her nub with practiced expertise. They had been doing this, meeting in private at public events, for months. He knew exactly what she needed and craved from him, knew precisely how to turn his fingers to make her arch her back, her breath coming in quick bursts as she tried to control herself. She need not bother honestly. They played their games. They told their lies, but he knew. He knew that she was _his_ , that the bright red flush of ecstasy on her face was only for him. He knew that no one else had touched her since their first time. It was an unspoken understanding. They brought dates, they played the game, but they both knew that they only wanted each other.

"Blaise," she said, his name coming sharp and quick as her legs moved in to hold his head in place, her body trembling, her knuckles surely white. He continued his movements as she came, not relenting until she finally pushed his head away in an exhausted shove. She fell back against the desk. Papers and quills dropped to the floor.

Blaise simply grabbed her knickers from the floor and slid them back over her legs, standing to lift her butt from the desk and finish the job. "Come to my flat," he said.

She looked up at him from tired eyes, and then pulled herself back up to sit before him. "I'm here with someone."

"I don't care, and neither do you."

"That isn't the way …"

"Fuck the way." He moved in pulling her to him quickly with his hand on her neck and kissed her hard, letting her taste herself on his lips. "Come to my flat, please." He said, the extra word tasting vile in his mouth, but she was worth it. The sight of her red hair splayed out across his black sheets, the sound of his name over and over in her sweet voice, the feel on her soft body sleeping against his would all be worth it.

"Lead the way," she said softly, and he took her hand. _His._


	5. Lace - Romione

**Strange Bedfellows**

A collection of one shots and drabbles with rare pairs (at least for me.)

See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.

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 **Lace**

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 **A Romione Drabble** by **Goldensnitch18**

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 **Rated T**

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 **Summary:** Hermione is about to walk down the aisle, when her lace dress is suddenly suffocating.

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 **There was so much lace.**

Lace everywhere.

Lace on lace.

How could she have ever thought this was a good idea?

That her dress was perfect and lovely and beautiful?

It was restricting her breathing. Her hand flew up, clutching at her chest as she let in quick, sharp breaths. "I can't breath," she said. She knew it wasn't true. Somewhere in her mind she knew that if she could speak, she was breathing, drawing in oxygen.

"Hermione." Ginny's familiar face moved into view, taking up nearly all of Hermione's screen of vision as she struggled against the lump in her throat and the voce around her lungs. "Breathe."

"She's surrounded by lay sprites," Luna's dreamy voice floated past the pounding in Hermione's ears. Ginny glanced over behind Hermione's right shoulder at their friend, probably trying to decided whether to ask what a lay sprite would be doing surrounding Hermione.

"You need to calm down," Ginny said, her own voice soft and steady as her eyes moved back to Hermione's. Hermione felt her cheeks flush as she continued to work towards a steady breathing pattern.

"What" - she closed her eyes, letting her body relax as Ginny rubbed her shoulders - "What am I doing?"

"Marrying the man you love," Ginny said again in that voice that was entirely un-Ginny. Hermione began to laugh, but it was high and unnatural. Ginny's eyes widened in front of her, racing frantically around her face before moving back to look at Luna again.

"Lay Sprites," Luna told her. Ginny sighed, shaking her head slowly, and before Hermione could register the movement, Ginny's palm had slapped across her cheek, leaving a burn in its wake.

"What?!" Hermione snapped as her hard moved up to rub the spot.

"I'm not sure that is the correct way to deal with these kind of sprites, Ginny." Luna added, moving into view to check on Hermione's cheek.

"Why did you slap me?" Hermione asked, still stunned.

"You need to get it together!" Ginny told her, moving her arm to point at the door. "My brother and 300 of your closest friends are out there waiting for you to walk down that aisle."

"I am supposed to be the youngest …"

"I don't care. We've all waited ten damn years for this Hermione. TEN YEARS, plus the seven at school where you two were the biggest idiots in the world. We're not waiting any longer." Ginny's face was full Weasley red now, her cheeks no doubt hot with the energy pulsing through her. "We have been patient while Ron was in Auror training, and you started your career, and Ron decided to go off and become a joke shop partner, and you switched departments, but we're done, dammit. I don't care what you want, or Ron, get your shit together and pick up those damn flowers because we have a wedding to get around to."

"What is going on in here?" Hermione turned to face Harry, his expression grim, but not surprised.

"I _told_ you she was going to do this!"

"I told Ron to elope," Harry grumbled. "She hates these big things."

"I'm right here!" Hermione said, indignant.

"Ron was having a fit this morning about his broom collection. He said she was going to make him sell them all." Harry laughed at this, but it wasn't funny at all. Hermione had bought half of those brooms as gifts for Ron. Why would she make him sell them?

"They've lived together for seven years," Ginny said.

"They are idiots." Harry shrugged.

"Right here!" Hermione told them again, waving her hands. "Idiot in the lace!"

Ginny gave her another glare in response, shoving the flowers into her hands. "Get her down that aisle, Harry. Imperius her if you have to. I'll keep an eye on the other idiot." Hermione watched her smooth her dress and then move out of the room.

"What a lovely day for a wedding!" Luna told them as she followed.

Harry closed the space between them and pulled Hermione into a tight hug. "You love him more than anything, right?" he asked.

"Of course," she said quickly. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with that sweet, stupid idiot at the other end of this church.

"Then come on," he said with a smirk, offering his arm.

"We should have eloped." They had lain in bed so many nights, body entwined, dreaming of what it would be like to just run away, get it done, take away the pressure Ron's mother kept putting on them to let her plan a big thing, but they loved her too much.

"Let's go make Molly happy," Harry told her, leaning in to kiss her temple. Hermione sighed, letting the breath slide slowly through her body, calming her. The people didn't matter. The lace didn't matter. All that mattered was Ron.

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 **A/N: Written for my dear friend RooOJoy who wanted a little Hermione, Ginny, & Luna interaction. Luna is hard for me, so I hope you enjoyed this little thing!**

This is part of my birthday project. I am writing a drabble a day all month! Follow along on my tumblr for more drabbles!

xoxo

 **Meg**


	6. Complication - Sevmione

**Strange Bedfellows**

A collection of one shots and drabbles with rare pairs (at least for me.)

See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.

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 **Complication**

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 **A Sevmione Drabble** by **Goldensnitch18**

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 **Rated T**

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 **Summary:** Hermione has had it with Severus treating her like she is still his student.

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He was such a bloody asshole. He had always been. Even when she was a young girl just meeting him, staring up expectantly at the pale man with the sullen expression at the head of the dark Potions room. He had hated her, but it had been a hate laced with something she had never understood as a child. Now, years later, knowing him as a colleague, as one of the few who had experienced the nearest thing he ever got to friendship, she had a sneaking, very unconfirmed, suspicion that she had reminded him of _her_ , the only woman he ever loved. That understanding did not, however, make him any less of a bloody asshole.

She could feel the color rising in her cheeks as her hands settled on her hips. "If you knew" - she tried to control her voice, knowing it would only make the situation worse to lose her calm completely - "that this wasn't going to work, why didn't you say something."

"You seemed to think it would," he responded, still working at his own station.

"I would have listened to you." She moved closer to his table, frustrated at the fact that he seemed not to care that he had let her waste four days brewing a potion he had known wouldn't work.

"You learned more this way." He bent down to watch as he poured a green liquid into the cauldron before him.

"I … I'm not a child any longer, _Severus_." He hated it when she used his given name.

He frowned, placing the vial back into the proper slot before standing again and facing her. "I never said that you were."

"You don't have to. You insist on treating me like one! I'm nearly thirty years old. I have made advances in this field that rival any other Potion Maker this century, including you! So please stop acting like I am your student, in need of learning from my own mistakes instead of a colleague who respects your work and experience."

"Ms. Granger, I-" Shape ruffled before her, his own face darkening.

"Hermione," she snapped, moving another step closer to him.

"What?" he asked, the idea of calling her by her name caused an expression of revulsion on his face.

"My name is Hermione. Say it," she demanded.

"I don't see why it matters what -"

"Minerva. Septima. Neville. You call them all by their names. How is Neville Longbottom deserving of that status, and I remain _Ms_. _Granger_?" She spat the name at him, a vile taste resting in her mouth. She had been up for hours and hours, barely sleeping while she worked on this damn potion she hoped would eventually lead to a cure for werewolf bites if taken within twelve hours of the attack.

"It isn't, it's not about your status," Severus told her. He turned away, seeming to hope to end the conversation.

She was _not_ going to let him out that easy. She was sick of this, tired of killing herself for his damn approval. She was the best damn Defense teacher this school has had in ages, and she was taking her field seriously, working towards advancements like this which would truly help the Wizarding World. She reached forward without thinking, gripping his arm through his black robes and spinning him around.

"Severus," she said as he was forced to turn, but the word got caught in her throat. His eyes had flashed with deep heat from her hold on his arm to her face. "Sorry," she mumbled. She knew better. He hated being touched. She was losing her steam in the wake of his reaction, her mistaken touch, but she needed to push him, to find out what in the world about her was still so damn unbearable. "I just … I respect you, and I had hoped that eventually that respect would be mutual."

He let out a noise, and it took her a long moment to realize he was laughing. She flushed, the heat in her cheeks embarrassment now instead of anger. She took a step back, turning to return to her own work.

"I have always respected you, Ms. Granger," he said quietly behind her. She turned back in surprise, not believing that this man, her dark, quiet companion would admit such a thing. "It has only grown as we have worked together."

"Then … what … it doesn't seem …" Hermione crossed her arms before her, hating this feeling of uncertainty. She was always certain, always confident, and he was unsettling her very core, something he seemed to be solely capable of.

"I prefer to keep a professional demeanor with you. It is not meant to offend."

The thought that crossed her mind then, a reflection of the thoughts she had been thinking alone in her bed late at night when she was safely away from his prying eyes, was dangerously exciting. "Why?" she asked, letting her arms fall to her side as she stepped closer to him again.

He twitched slightly, but seemed otherwise unaffected. He did not answer her question though, his mouth remained a tight line.

"What could it hurt to call me by my first name? It's such a simple thing." She stepped closer again, the distance between them just a few inches. It was probably inappropriate if she was going to be honest with herself, but she was pulling on her bravery, hoping that she had not misconstrued the hidden meaning behind his words.

Severus looked down at her, his eyes met hers, and she felt a shiver of something delicious race through her body. She _really_ hoped she was right. Otherwise, this was going to be extremely awkward. She would never finish her work with the potion because she wouldn't be able to come down the Potions room ever again.

"Hermione," her name was so soft on his lips she half thought she imagined him saying it, but then he moved just a breath closer to her, and she knew. She was right.

She leaned up, shuffling her feet closer to him, her cheeks flaming as she imagined him pushing her back, but his hand found her neck instead. His fingertips caused shivers across her skin as she saw his head dip down to meet his mouth with his. It was a soft kiss. Her hands moved slowly up his chest as her mind raced, tracing their path here to this moment, leaping forward to wondering what would happen now that this had happened. She tried to push the thoughts away by pressing her lips more tightly against his. Severus responded with a hand at her hip, pulling her closer, making her body move against his.

Robes were ridiculously impractical for this kind of activity. She had taken hers off, leaving her in trousers and a blouse, but he was still draped in his customary black, and she wanted to feel him, to know what it was like to have his body against hers as he kissed her. She pushed against his robes with her fingers and half expected him to stop her, but he assisted instead, letting them fall to the floor around him.

She shuffled her feet until she was pressed back against the table he had been working on. His hips pushed against her, and she sighed into his mouth as his hands returned to her body. They were tight on her skin through her clothes. His lips grazed against hers, and he pulled back slightly to whisper against her lips. "This is a complication."

"Don't be an ass," she whispered back, but she couldn't hold back the smile struggling to overtake her mouth.

* * *

 **A/N: Dedicated to oblivionbaby. I love you so much my dear friend 3 Thank you for always being there for me. Also, I'm fairly certain this is the first Sevmione I have ever written so I apologize if it's sucks. Haha. I tried for you.**

 **This drabble is part of my birthday project where I am writing one drabble a day every day this month. Follow along on my tumblr, goldensnitch-18.**

 **xoxo**

 **Meg**


	7. Promise - TomMinerva

**Strange Bedfellows**

A collection of one shots and drabbles with rare pairs (at least for me.)

See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.

oOoOo

 **Promise**

oOoOo

 **A Tom/Minerva Drabble** by **Goldensnitch18**

oOoOo

 **Rated T**

oOoOo

 **Summary:** Minerva is going to say no. Today she is going to do it.

* * *

He always called her Minnie when they were alone. She despised the way the name rolled off his tongue, making her feel the poison of his influence coursing through her veins. For this reason, her dedication to not being alone with him was only rivaled by her dedication to defeating him at every opportunity. They fought relentlessly for the top spot, a battle that no one understood or even realized was occurring so furiously outside of their duo. Despite this, there were moments when it was impossible to avoid him, to add a third to their group. The worst of it was their rounds. The schedule had been devised with extreme precision, debated and adjusted until she only had to be alone with him once a week on Thursday evenings.

He was utterly aware the weight of his presence. He would smile, if one could call it a smile, that thing he did when it was just the two of them. His lips would curve only in the slightest, his eyes dark with something she tried not to understand, tried not to feel low in her belly as she stared into them. But, she would feel it. She would understand it. It was predatory. His claim over her was quiet, shown in the darkest of corners with his hand at her waist, his lips on her neck as she let out a gasp in spite of her best effort to swallow it down.

This Thursday was no different. They began outside of the Great Hall. He rolled the sleeves of his white shirt as they walked. They were silent. There was nothing to talk about. Theirs was a relationship born of intensity and energy. It needed no words. It needed no prompting. They walked. She imagined that this time she would push him away. There would be no hesitation. As soon as he descended on her, she would put her hands on his chest. "I'm done," she would tell him. "This is over here and now." She repeated the words, pictured the motion over and over as they moved step by step closer to their dark corner, the spot where he always stopped her. Their spot crawled closer, each moment burning at her like a fire, the anticipation of how he would react to her refusal dancing through her.

And, then, they were there. He had his hands shoved into his pockets when he stopped, his lips curving, his eyes owning her. He leaned back against the brick wall. She could just see him in the dark of the dungeon. This was different. He always pressed her back against the wall, tasting her as she allowed him to control her. It unsettled her. It disrupted the planned rejection racing through her head.

"Minnie." There it was, the poison. It hit her hard, racing with practiced ease through her body. "Come."

She stared, still disturbed by his change in the routine. It was as if he knew, as if he could read her mind. He was flipping the tables, making her admit that she wanted it, that she couldn't stop thinking about the way his fingertips felt on her thighs and how her heart raced when he told her that she was his, utterly and entirely his.

She stepped forward. Once. Twice. Again.

"Kiss me." His eyes were burning. There was something sinister in them. There was always something sinister below the surface, bubbling as she watched him charm everyone else but her. How could they not see it? It was so clearly there, reaching out for her.

She watched his eyes as her hands moved of their own accord, unable to resist him. It had been stupid to even pretend that she would push him away, that she would ever deny him. She was his, utterly, entirely. Her fingers clutched at his hips as her chest fell against his. He never let her eyes go as she leaned up to follow his order. She closed her own eyes as her lips touched his. Shame flitted through her. This was so wrong. There was something so terrible about this boy, this man, but it called her, made her need him more and more each time she touched him. All the other girls dreamed about this moment, about him wanting them, about him deeming them worthy of his time, and she just wished that he would forget her. She was too weak to let go, to follow through on what she knew she should do.

One day, she promised, one day she would say no, but not today.

* * *

 **A/N: Today's drabble is dedicated to Shaya, who wrote this pair having such a terrible, haunting connection in Soul Scars that it reignited my love of them. I have been waiting to try my hand at it ever since. Also, I've obviously fumbled with their ages a bit. Forgive me.**

 **This drabble is part of my birthday project where I am writing one drabble a day every day this month. Follow along on my tumblr, goldensnitch-18.**

 **xoxo**

 **Meg**


	8. Flight - Paneville

**Strange Bedfellows**

A collection of one shots and drabbles with rare pairs (at least for me.)

See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.

 **oOoOo**

 **Flight**

oOoOo

 **A Paneville Drabble** by **Goldensnitch18**

oOoOo

 **Rated M** for Scenes of a Sexual Nature

oOoOo

She was putting on eyeliner when her father walked through her bedroom door. A glance back at him in her mirror revealed that he was holding a vase full of white roses, a frown heavy on his lips. "What is that?" she asked, not needing him to answer. There was only one man dumb enough to send her roses.

"They just showed up," he told her, "with your name and nothing else. Marcus asked who they were from." Marcus Flint, the man her father wanted her to marry, the man she utterly detested with everything she was. He was an idiot. His number of active brain cells surely had not increased since he had been forced to repeat his seventh year, but he was a Flint. All her father saw was that name, that perfect Pureblood name, and what he could do with it. She would give him Flint grandchildren, and he may even be able to turn them into Ministers of Magic, it was in the blood after all. Her parents had learned very little from the war, unlike her.

Pansy had learned a great deal of things, unfortunately one of them was not standing up to her parents. "It doesn't matter," she said, ignoring his sound of derision. She leaned closer to the mirror and swiped at her bottom lid again. Marcus Flint better appreciate what he was being given, but her conversations with him thus far had not led her to believe this was true. She was quite confident instead that her marriage to him would be rather like her parent's marriage. Perfection in public, detestation in private. She sighed, and her father's hand dropped her shoulder.

"You shouldn't keep him waiting, Pansy," he scolded, as if she was twelve years old again, and Draco was waiting to pour her tea. Fuck, if only it was Draco down in the parlor. She could likely at least tolerate him enough to avoid visions of murdering him in his sleep. Fucking arse had married Daphne's little sister of all people. Ridiculous, though she did have to admit it would probably end up being good for him in the long run.

"I'll be down in a minute," she told him, not bothering to meet his eyes. She moved to her other eye as his footsteps faded, her mouth parting as her mascara brush slid up her lashes. As she stood to walk to her closet and find something to put on for this ridiculous breakfast, the door opened again, and she nearly huffed in frustration before her eyes slid to the man stepping inside. It wasn't her father. It wasn't Marcus. "What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, unconsciously pulling her robe tighter over her bra and slip.

"Are you really going to have breakfast with that fucking idiot?" Longbottom asked. His brown Oxfords were kicking the door shut behind him. In his hand, a single black rose rested, waiting for her to take it.

"Why did you send me those flowers?" she retorted.

He stepped closer, closing the gap with deliberate measured steps as a grin spread across his face. "Are you going to marry Flint?"

"How did you get in the house without my father seeing you?" she was clutching the fabric tightly now, refusing to let go, as if it gave her some invisible upper hand.

He towered over her, and she looked straight at his damn vest. He eve dressed like a fucking Professor now. He was working in the Greenhouses, doing an Apprenticeship. "Why are you hiding from me?" his hand slid up her side, a smooth glide of the pads of fingers over the silk on her thigh, hip, belly, and - _fuck_ \- her breast. His thumb grazed her nipple through the silk, through the bra, and the traitor rose to his touch, demanding he continue.

"Why are you here?" she asked again, her voice already losing some of its normal power. She was a wreck around him, a complete and utter wreck. She had been since the night they ran into each other in Paris, him with his Grandmother and her with Daphne and her sister buying dresses for the wedding. She blamed the whiskey, at least the first time, but it kept happening. They kept finding each other. He kept sending her those fucking flowers.

"Are you going to marry him?" he asked. The black rose was on her neck, trailing across her exposed skin. Her hands had slackened, and, somehow, he was undoing the tie on her robe.

She was so fucked.

"My father wants me to," she told him, her voice a whisper. His lips were at her shoulder, kissing her softly.

"And?" He breathed against the spot, sending a chill down her spine. Fuck.

"I suppose I will," she told him.

He pushed down the silk, dropping it into a pile with the abandoned rose. She glanced down for an instant before he was pulling her closer. She let him. There was honestly not a single cell in her body that gave a damn that people were waiting for her or that she was supposed to be negotiating a marriage with another man. "Really?" He lifted her up his hands pushing up the edge of her slip as her legs wrapped around his waist.

"Sure." She pulled at the buttons on that fucking vest, hating that she was so bare to him and he still looked ready to teach a class. He carried her to the bed as she worked, lowering her to the sheets with care. He was such a study in opposites. Gentle and Passionate. Kind and Driven. He slid off the vest and shirt she had unbuttoned as he looked down at her with that same intense gaze he had used to capture her attention in Paris. He had watched her all throughout dinner until his Gran had gone up for the night. Pansy had excused herself to the bathroom, and there he was in the hallway, waiting to pull her into some room and fuck her against the wall. It had been insane, utter madness, that last thing she had expected from him of all people, but she had learned. She had discovered the thing inside of him that no one else saw, the thing that had her pinned beneath him in her bed, naked while her 'fiance' drank coffee downstairs.

Her fingers clenched the sheets as he leaned down, over her. "Pansy …" He purred into her ear, and she pressed her hips up into his groin.

"You shouldn't be here," she told him, but her fingers were on his belt buckle, fighting to get him closer to her, to feel all of him.

"Yes. I should." His had was under her slip now, gripping her knickers. She let out a small moan as he slid them down, knowing, anticipating what he was going to do to her.

"You're going to end up cursed," she whispered as she finally managed to free the damn belt.

"I locked the door." He raised his hips as she pushed, moving his pants and trousers down with a smooth motion. He kicked them the rest of the way off, and hissed when her hand moved around him. "Fuck."

"Yes," she replied, grinning. She stroked him a few times, but it wasn't necessary. He was just as ready as she was. He pushed inside of her and they both seemed to decompress, as if something so utterly right had shifted into place.

"Don't," he said through quick breaths. His hips were rocking into her, filling her with each stroke. One hand was at her breasts pulling aside her bra to the best of his ability to suck at her nipple.

"Don't what?" she asked, nails digging into his back.

"You know, dammit." His words tickled her breasts, and she arched into his mouth.

"What other choice do I have?" she asked.

He moved up to kiss her, his lips bruising in their intensity. "No one if that is what you want, or me."

"My father isn't going to approve of me carrying on with a fuck buddy, Longbottom."

He bit the base of her ear gently, pulling the sensitive skin. "I would be more than a fuck buddy, Pansy. You know that. Say the word."

She was silent then, her eyes clenched shut, as she gripped him tightly against her, focusing all of her attention on the sensations of their bodies moving together, trying not to think about after that first time. _Are you okay?_ he had asked, and she had known that was never going to be okay again. It didn't make any fucking sense. He was nothing at all like what she wanted from life, but here he was, buried inside of her while her heart beat rapidly against his chest, demanding she answer him, tell him something she couldn't bear to let past her lips.

"Fine," she said shortly, not trusting her mouth with more than this.

"Mine?" the possessive, determined man only she knew asked.

"Yes," she muttered, as if it was the most horrible thing in the world, but she felt so fucking free as waves of pleasure began to rock through her.

She wondered what her parents would say to Marcus when they found her bedroom empty, her bed rumpled and smelling of sex.


	9. Bearable - Sevcissa

Strange Bedfellows

A collection of one shots and drabbles with rare pairs (at least for me.)

See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.

oOoOo

Bearable

oOoOo

A Severus/Narcissa Drabble by Goldensnitch18

oOoOo

Rated M for Scenes of a Sexual Nature, Infidelity

oOoOo

"You shouldn't be here," he scolded, hand reaching up to brush at the hair in his eyes.

She knew she shouldn't be here. It was the very last place she should be, honestly, because there was only one reason to seek him out and that reason was likely to get her killed if it was discovered. "What are you making today?" she asked. Rows of tiny bottles littered his work space. He was lifting them one by one, filling them with something dark.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to."

So it was something for him. The man who had ruined her still new marriage, stolen her husband, led him to fall in love with power instead of her. "Severus," she whispered, tired of being ignored. He knew why she was here. She wouldn't beg.

He placed the bottle in the rack and faced her. "You really shouldn't be here."

He was the perfect partner for this, Severus Snape. He was in love with another woman. He wanted nothing from this but the satisfaction of his physical body, nothing more or less than what she was after, the desire to feel some sort of connection to something alive.

"Go upstairs," he told her. She turned to leave his workroom, satisfied in her accomplishment. As she walked up the stairs of his rickety, awful house, she stripped herself slowly of every article of clothing she possessed, leaving them for him to find. Her blouse, bra, skirt, slip, knickers, everything. She left her heels in the doorway to his bedroom, and climbed up on his bed. It was the one nice thing in the house. She had insisted.

She waited. This was part of his game, leaving her waiting, leaving her wanting for him while he did whatever it was that Severus Snape did before taking a beautiful woman married to his best friend.

When she finally heard him on the stairs, her heart raced and anticipation pooled between her thighs. She imagined him passing each item, pausing to imagine what she must have looked like removing it. He loved it when she played his mind games right back at him. He would be hard already, his trousers stretched. The thought made her hand slide down her body to the wet heat screaming for him. She moaned as she rubbed small circles around the sensitive nub, nearly missing his entrance into the bedroom. He was pulling his shirt off when he stopped, his eyes burning at the sight of her.

He wasted no time, the slow, steady man gone. He threw the shirt the ground and closed the gap between himself and the bed. He fell to his knees at its edge, and she felt him grip her ankles, pulling her hard towards him. She had hardly a second to move her hand away before his face was buried in her, tongue diving into the depths of her, sending pleasure rocking through her. Seeing his eager need filled her with exactly what she had come here for. They were both so fucking broken in this broken world but for a moment, here with him, she could close her eyes and pretend that he was Lucius, and he could pretend the she was Lily, and life was a little more bearable.


	10. Tell Me You Love Me - Snily

**Strange Bedfellows**

A collection of one shots and drabbles with rare pairs (at least for me.)

See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.

 **oOoOo**

 **Tell Me You Love Me**

oOoOo

 **A Snily Oneshot** by **Goldensnitch18**

oOoOo

 **Rated M** for Scenes of a Sexual Nature

oOoOo

I. Summer

"I'm sorry." They were the most meaningless words to grace the English language, but what else could he say? So, he said them, over and over, endlessly.

Finally, on a warm summer night when he least expected it, she showed up. The bark from their old familiar tree dug into his back as he leaned against it, eyes closed, trying not to draw up the vivid details of his parents' most recent argument. He wished ... well, he shouldn't think about doing those things, even if his father deserved them.

Lily would not approve, and he had to be better. He had to prove to her his choice had not been made, his way was whichever way let him be with her. A large sigh escaped his lips. His tension ebbed with his focused breathing until the soft stroke of fingertips against his chin jarred him into action. He had her wrist in his hand, his wand at her throat before he even realized who had touched him. He dropped both immediately, uttering those words again as quickly as he could. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." And, fuck, he was so sorry. Sorry for hurting her. Sorry for not being the person she wanted him to be. Sorry for not telling her ages ago he loved her.

"Sev," she whispered. Her eyes were wide from the surprise of his reaction, but she moved closer, her knees curling beneath her as she touched his face again. "Sev, I want to believe you, but …"

And, somehow, somewhere inside of him, for the first time in his miserable life, Severus Snape found a brave moment, a moment where his give-a-damn had flickered from reality, leaving him sixteen and stupid and not knowing what his body would do next. He moved quickly, his face darting forward to hers, his hand moving to grip her hair, and he kissed her hard and eagerly, asking her for everything he had never been able to put into words.

Lily shuddered against him, her body shaking as she kissed him back. She responded with eager desperation, and he stumbled up to the brink of death then, almost dying from the shock of her wanting this, wanting him kissing her. He tasted her tears a moment before his skin registered the wet feeling of them against his face. He thought he might pull away, might try to talk to her, but when he tried, she merely wrapped her arms around his neck and climbed awkwardly onto his lap, kissing him harder.

The rest of the summer passed in a feverish blend of moments. She seemed to be intent on discovering every possible way they could kiss, and he would not complain about the endeavor. Even when he noticed her biting her lip and staring with the all too familiar pain in her eyes when she thought he wouldn't notice. She remained scared she had been right, scared he couldn't pull away from the Death Eaters, but he hadn't been to see any of his friends over the summer. He hadn't answered their letters. He hadn't attended any of the 'meetings' he had been invited to. He had sent Avery and Mulciber away when they visited.

Two weeks before they were due to return to Hogwarts, Lily's parents left for the night, and she snuck him into her room. She had asked him to stay the night. He said yes, of course, despite feeling a bit terrified of what it may mean. As long as he lived, he would never forget the moment he had been sitting on her bed, trying not to look awkward and wondering where to put his hands, when Lily had emerged from her bathroom.

She blushed furiously. He noticed this first. The flush grew heavy on her cheeks, but it also traveled down her neck to her breasts. And, her breasts. Fuck. They were pushed up somehow, some magic of the short dress she wore. But, it wasn't really a dress, at least not one you would wear anywhere decent. The sheer material allowed him to see her skin beneath it, every bit of her skin, and he thought he might die at that moment. He shifted, his palm trying to be inconspicuous as he adjusted the situation developing in his trousers, but she laughed, a soft nervous laugh, and he laughed, too.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted.

Severus rose from the bed, his eyes traveling the length of her body again as he moved closer. "I think you're trying to kill me," he told her.

"No." She laughed again. "I think you have to stay alive for what I had planned."

He let out a horrible, embarrassing sound as he reached her. She kissed him, relieving him of the responsibility of replying to her statement with real worlds, words he could not speak even if he wanted to. She devoured him slowly with the kind of kiss which seemed to last an eternity, but he didn't mind it at all. He could kiss her for the rest of his life and it would still not be enough of her. It would never be enough.

He lifted her from the ground, and she wrapped her body around him as he moved them to her bed. They lay on the bed together, him falling into place over her as she began to roam his body with her hands. Very little of his skin remained which she had not tasted with her mouth. Her hands had even less unexplored territory to claim. This need to feel, to explore, to make each other feel good had been their driving force over the past days and weeks. It had been better than anything he had fantasized in his room late at night when his mind had always shifted to her. The reality of Lily feeling, touching, kissing, licking, biting … the sensations were more, just more.

And, now ... now she urged him to lift his shirt, her fingers gripping the cotton and shoving it up, exposing his lean body and his pale skin. He had no idea how she could want to see more of him, how she could want to touch him, want him to touch her. It honestly baffled him. She was pure perfection, and he fell short of every trait any sensible person would consider attractive. Despite this, her breath came quickly, and her eyes eagerly devoured his chest as it was exposed to her. He helped her to remove the shirt and looked down at her as she smiled up at him. Her hands rested gently against his skin and roamed, feeling him, sending intense waves of need directly between his legs.

Lily's hands hovered at his trousers for a few hesitant moments, her eyes moving up to stare into his. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He couldn't push her, but he wasn't about to suggest they not do this thing he had been imagining for as long as he could remember. "Sev," she whispered.

"Yes," he whispered back. His voice shook as badly as her fingers.

"Tell me you love me."

He was stunned. How could she not know? How could she have any doubts about how he felt? He moved, letting his weight fall to his side as he lay beside her. "Lily." He reached out gently, his fingers shaking now as he touched her skin to move a stray lock of flaming hair from her face to behind her ear. "I love you more than anything in the world. I'll always love you. I'll never …" his voice broke. "I never stop loving you. Never."

She nodded, turning on her side to meet his gaze head-on. "I love you, too," she whispered. "Sev, I … I don't want anyone but you. I … can't lose you."

"I'm right here." He kissed her. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise me," she demanded.

"I promise. I promise I'm not going anywhere. I promise I'll always be here. Always." He whispered the words feverishly into her mouth between kisses, and she began to pull at the button of his trousers, her desire reignited, her need overtaking her again. She shoved his trousers and pants down in the next minute, and he tried to control his body, trying to keep his cool as he helped her.

Once his clothing lay messily at the end of the bed, she pulled him back onto her, and he was made incredibly aware of how little remained between them. His cock, hard and pulsing, lined up perfectly with her silk knickers. Her sheer nightgown rubbed gently against his skin as they writhed, kissing desperately. One hand found its way onto her breast and pulled the cup of her nightgown down to reveal it fully. Severus took it in his mouth, sucking at her nipple, reveling in the feel of it beneath his tongue. She rocked her body up into him, moaning in response. She tried to pull the damn nightgown off, and as much as he wanted the layer gone, he hated that he had to release her breast to allow it. Once she tossed to the side, he stared down at her chest, breathing heavily, his eyes feasting on her. "Sev," she moaned again, pressing her hips up into him. Her knickers remained, the final piece of clothing on either of them. He wanted to rip them. He wanted to tear them with his teeth. He wanted them fucking gone, but he drew on every ounce of common sense remaining to him and pushed them down with his hands instead.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered as her core was exposed to him. He had buried his fingers inside of her before. In the heated moments of hidden obsession when they had devoured as much of each other as they could, he had reached under her skirt to feel her there, but never, not one time, had she been completely bare to him like this, open for him to see each treasured part of her body.

He moved a hand slowly up her leg and thigh, resting it at her sacred center, his heart raging in his chest, needing her so fucking bad. He pressed two fingers inside of her, and she rocked against them, soaking him with her need. He slid them in and out of her, and she clutched his shoulders. "Sev, just … I want …" He didn't need her to tell him again. He removed his fingers quickly using them to position his cock at her entrance. He didn't know what the hell he was doing. He would do something wrong. He was sure. He had heard it would hurt her, that this was just how it was, but nothing about this had seemed to hurt her yet, and it surely hadn't hurt him. He tried to get a grip on his mind in the seconds he had before the head of his dick pressed at her entrance, but it was barely any time at all, and he pushed into her before he knew could really accomplish anything. He felt utter bliss at the sensation of her heat and moisture around him. The combination was the most incredible thing he had ever felt in his life. He could die now. Die and never regret it. Die and be perfectly happy. Die and this moment would overshadow all the pain and sorrow of his life so far. He stared into Lily's eyes as he moved, watched her mouth open wide and listening to the way her moan changed as he shifted.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she rocked up into him, and he pushed deeper, which seemed to be good indeed. He still had no idea what the hell to do, but apparently, she didn't mind. He began to move in a steady, but ungodly slow, rhythm. Each move so much better than his hand had ever fucking been, even with the addition of the few magic accommodations he had picked up in the Slytherin boys' dorms over the years. She was everything. She was a goddess. She brought him to the brink of coming with each damn shift of her hips.

"Sev," she moaned his name, and he clenched the sheets as hard as he could, trying to last. "I love you so much." He came, spilling inside of her, crying out as pleasure unlike anything he had experienced shook through him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered when he had regained his sense, fully aware she hadn't been able to finish, and he had barely even tried to help her get there.

"We'll just have to do it again," she told him, grinning.

II. Winter

Every terrible thing endured had been for this. He had been earning each and every moment of her body touching his. Her flaming hair burned his fingers as he clutched it desperately, pulling her impossibly closer. Without them, the closet would already have been cramped, but she pushed him so hard against the stone that he honestly couldn't be sure that they weren't one person now, melded in all the places he certainly didn't deserve to be touch.

And the taste of her. How could words even begin to comprehend the delight of her tongue on his? Strawberries. They had eaten strawberries for dessert before rounds. Fuck, he felt sure he could taste the thick cream she had smothered them with. He hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her spoon. He didn't give a fuck if Potter had seen him staring, if he had earned an extra torture session with his stupid gang for watching her lick and bite at her damn cutlery, unaware what she did to him.

His cock ached against her. Not that it ever seemed to do anything else these days. She always put him in the most awkward of positions just by existing, just by letting him know what it felt like to have her touching him, have her taste on his lips.

Her hands were quick tonight, desperate as her moans swallowed his own embarrassing coos of desperation. Somehow, against the rules of all reality and magic, she removed their clothing without sacrificing their closeness. He let her, but he didn't help. This remained her responsibility in his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to initiate the removal of clothing. He couldn't bring himself to believe that she really wanted it, wanted him, unless she stripped him bare first.

Her teeth grazed his earlobe, and he pushed his hips forward against her, eliciting a guttural noise he had never heard from her before. "Severus," she croaked. "Please …" Her knickers, bra, and skirt remained, as well as his undone belt and his trousers. She pushed him, demanding something of him he wasn't sure he could give yet. He hesitated, considering whether he should draw this out.

She wasn't having it. She covered his hand with hers and brought his fingers under her skirt, under her knickers to feel the moist heat he had been craving since she had kissed him in the hallway outside the closet. "I want you." She brought him closer, and he had no choice but to bury his fingers in her as she sighed in bliss. "I need you." She whispered the words, but he heard them. It urged him on, driving him to rest his thumb at the sensitive spot she had spent several sessions coaching him on. She shuddered against him, her breath hitching in desperation. "Yesssssssss." She hissed, dragging the sound out as she spoke it directly into his soul.

His free hand moved, daring to free himself, pulling his cock from his pants as his trousers fell freely to the floor. Lily whimpered, her cunt pushing against him. His fingers weren't what she wanted. He knew it, but it didn't make it easy to believe. How could she ever want him? How could she desire him inside of her? How could she need him to bring her to shuddering release?

He resituated, moving to press her back against the opposite wall. The space in the closet was so tight it barely required any movement at all. She pulled her arms around his neck as he lifted her, his hands beneath her thighs. He thought he might die. Every time this happened he thought, this time, this time my heart will give out.

She reached between them, gripping his length in her hand, and he shuddered, closing his eyes for a moment. She positioned him, and he shoved, hard. She cried out in pleasure, and he pulled back with his eyes closed, his entire being focused on feeling her, memorizing the sensations of her teeth against his skin, her nails digging in, her heat engulfing him.

"Severus, fuck …"

"Tell me …" he mumbled, and she laughed. He knew she thought it ridiculous he even needed the words after all this time, but she couldn't understand where the need came from. She likely never would. "Tell me," he repeated.

"I love you, Sev. I love you so much."

"I love you," he told her, muttering the words into her shoulder, his eyes clenched tight as he moved in and out of her, clinging to the last threads of his control.

"Now, fuck me," she told him quietly, and he obliged, shoved her harder against the wall, his hips picking up the pace, falling into a hard and steady rhythm. She moaned in his arms, growing louder and louder, her fingers digging deeper and deeper. Soon enough she fell into a chant, "Fuck, Sev, oh, yes, that, Merlin, fuck, fuck," and he slipped closer to losing his grip, failing at control, failing to hold on until finally there was no more control, nothing left to hold onto, and he spilled into her, desperately filling her, coming with a shattered cry into her shoulder until she turned her head, claiming his lips again, kissing him hard as her fingers slid between them, spinning her clit with swift determined movements. He was half hard inside of her as she came, her walls seizing him, tempting his spent cock to rise again and play.

She would be the death of him yet, but it would be a glorious and welcome death.

III. Spring

He knew something was wrong the moment he saw her. Tears were falling freely down her face, and she held herself as if she might fall apart at any moment. His initial reaction was to wonder if he had done something to hurt her, but that wasn't really possible. They had just returned from break. He had been with her just yesterday, lying beneath their tree on a tattered old blanket. She had read to him from one of her Muggle storybooks, and he had pretended not to enjoy it quite as much as he did. The next time he had seen her had been today on the train. She had been with her friends, but she had seemed fine. She had smiled over at him as he passed their compartment.

"Lily …" he moved quickly across the abandoned classroom to her, and she simply cried harder the closer he came to her. By the time she fell into his arms, her sobs were uncontrollable. He let her cry. He didn't know what else to do.

His second reaction was to wonder if Potter had done something. He wouldn't hurt her, not intentionally anyway. As much as he hated the arrogant prat, he had to admit that about him. Despite this, Potter was an oblivious toerag who had no idea that he and Lily were together. He continued to irritate and pursue her, and this wouldn't be the first time he had brought her to tears.

A long time passed before she composed herself enough to pull back, wipe her face, and look at him. "Why?" she asked, and he began to go through the last day again, remember each interaction they had, trying to figure out what he did wrong.

"Why what?" he replied, honestly confused.

"I saw you … I saw you again! Last night with them," she said, spitting the final word at him. Them. The Death Eaters. Fuck. Lucius and a few cronies had shown up at his house well after they had gone their separate ways for the night. He hadn't even considered that she may have seen them. She was spending the night with her parents and a reluctant Petunia.

You don't understand," he told her. Lucius had been sent to remind Severus of the Dark Lord's expectations. The Dark Lord wanted him. He had seen value in him where others had not. A year ago, Severus would have killed for this attention, but now … now it was the very last thing he wanted. "It isn't . .. I didn't want to …" Lucius had been very clear Severus would join them this summer, he could not avoid them any longer, he would help the Dark Lord. Severus would do this or Lucius himself would use Lily to show the rest of the world just how Mudbloods would fit into the new order of things once their Lord had risen to power. The only reason she hadn't been hurt was because the Dark Lord wanted Severus to voluntarily join them.

"Don't lie to me!" she snapped. "I'm not a child. I'm not here to be manipulated and lied to, Severus. You promised me. You promised you were done, you chose me. I believed you, I kept believing you, I tried so hard to believe you were leaving it behind, but you lied!"

"I didn't," he said, but his answer sounded inadequate even to his ears. She had caught him too many times over the past year as he tried to toe the line between the two parts of his life. Last summer when he had made the promise to her, he had been unable to predict the interest the Dark Lord had in him joining his followers.

"You did! I've seen you. I tried … I tried to trust you, to think loving me was enough to keep you away from them, but … I'm not am I? I'm not enough?"

"Don't say that!" he demanded. He couldn't tell her the whole truth. She didn't deserve that hanging over her. He had gone back and forth, debating what to do. He knew that she started this out with her doubts about his allegiances, and it turned out they had been well placed. If it was up to him, if it was just his decision, he would have left it all behind that summer day she had found him under their tree. He would give up anything for her. He would do anything for her, even become a Death Eater.

She would never understand. No one could understand what it was like to be in the Dark Lord's sights unless they were there. He was a collector, just like Slughorn. Once he saw something in you that he wanted, there was no backing out, no changing your mind to be with the Muggleborn girl you had fallen in love with. Severus would be a Death Eater. He had accepted that. In all honesty, he had known all along. He had known that he wouldn't be able to pull away, to chose her in the end. The two were mutually exclusive. Lily would never permit herself to build a life with a Death Eater. He would never permit himself to put her in that position. He loved her far too much for that.

"Don't say the truth?" she screamed.

Severus reacted to her screams without thinking. He gripped her tightly, kissing her hard, not caring if he hurt her. She had to understand how he felt. If this was going to be the end, if he was going to finally summon the strength to let her go, she was going to have no doubts about his true allegiance. Nothing was more important than her, than this.

She hurt him back, her nails digging into his skin as she kissed him with abandon, clinging to him. "You know you're everything. If I could … I wish … it was too late. I was too late," he muttered against her mouth, and she let out another sob as he shoved her back against the board. She pulled at his trousers, her nimble fingers well versed in the art of freeing him, of sinking him deep inside of her.

"Tell me you love me," she croaked, sounding more vulnerable than he could ever remember her to be. She gripped him in her hand, stroking him as he held her up against the wall, her legs around him.

"You know I love you," he told her, and it burned him from the inside out, killing every single last part of him that ever imagined he could keep her.

"Just say it again," she begged, and he nearly stopped it, nearly backed away to set her down and talk this through, but he was too sure he needed to protect her from what the Death Eaters would do to her, from what danger he had put her in by being in love with her, by being happy when she had finally admitted she returned his feelings.

"I love you," he said before another hard kiss. Let her have this. Let her think of him this way. Let her remember him before whatever atrocities he would soon commit.

"Don't stop," she told him.

"I love you. I love you," he whispered the words in her ear as they joined, as tears streamed down her face, as he accepted without a doubt that this would be the last time he held her, the last time he buried himself in her, the last time she shuddered in his arms, calling his name in ecstasy. Maybe it would be better this way. Maybe she would be safe this way. Maybe she would live a beautiful life away from him, away from the danger he had put her in. "I'm sorry."


	11. Waiting - Harmony

**Strange Bedfellows**

A collection of one shots and drabbles with rare pairs (at least for me.)

See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.

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 **Waiting**

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 **A Harmony Drabble/One Shot**

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 **GoldenSnitch18**

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 **Rated M** for Scenes of a Sexual Nature

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Despite the brightly roaring fire kept in the hearth, the frost on the windows was dangerously close to fully concealing any view from the small cottage. Outside, bitter cold and raging winds claimed the world with vicious, unrelenting fervor, as if the weather were ignorant of the importance of the day and the desire for travel it spurred in the humans who lived upon the surface. Luckily, Harry and Hermione had arrived in the cabin hours before, both Apparating in to save them from the cold. It was their second Christmas spent here in the cabin.

The first had been the year before, just a couple months after she and Ron had broken it off. They would have been welcome at The Burrow despite the fact that both of their relationships had ended with their respective Weasley, but she had wanted space, space that didn't involve going to her parents. Things between them had been tense since she had returned their memories. Visiting them for a few hours on Christmas day was her limit.

Harry had offered to spend Christmas with her, and so they had rented this place out for three nights. It was a decent sized cabin with three bedrooms, a nice kitchen, and a cozy library. Hermione spent most of her time in the library the first year, hiding from him for a reason she wasn't really sure of.

This year, they arrived on Christmas Eve and made dinner together. Then, they had both gone to unpack their bags. By the time Hermione had emerged in her pajamas with a book in her hand, Harry was sitting in front of the fire with a firewhisky. He had changed into a simple white shirt and lounge pants. She tried not to let her eyes linger on him for longer than was strictly necessary as she made her way to the couch.

"Get settled in?" he asked.

She nodded back at him. "I'm so glad we came back this year. This place is so peaceful."

"It is." He watched her take her seat and lifted his drink to her. "Want one?"

"You know I hate it." She laughed.

"One day I'll convert you," he assured her.

She just shook her head, turning her book to open it. They sat there, bathing in the warmth of the fire, Harry drinking and her reading, quietly enjoying each other's presence for nearly half an hour before Harry spoke again.

"Hermione." She looked towards him, surprised. "Dance with me," he said, quietly, as he set his drink down on the end table. Green eyes darkened with something mysterious met brown, asking the question his words had made a statement as he stretched out one hand.

Hermione felt flustered by the suggestion for some reason, all of this seeming new somehow, which didn't make much sense to her. She had known Harry for more than half of her life, spent many winter nights with him staying warm from the heat of a fire in her pajamas.

"There isn't any music, Harry," she told him, but he had grabbed his wand already, fixing the problem she had identified. She bit her lip, considering his extended hand.

She had danced with him before: joyfully, slowly, and with sorrow so heavy she never thought she would move past it. But, she had; they had. Together they moved forward, always together. Ron had been there, of course. He still was, but things were different. Despite their promise to be friends when they had broken up, something separated her from him now, and something felt different about this here with Harry. It felt more significant than it had before. It had for some time, felt different, that is.

She nodded.

He stood, moving towards her until she grabbed his hand. They must look silly, two grown adults dancing in their pajamas, but she found that she didn't care. He held her close, doing a simple circle on the rug, nothing fancy. She couldn't help but be reminded of a moment in a tent years before when she had been in his arms, trying desperately not to think the things she was thinking.

When she looked up, she realized Harry was looking down at her. She thought she might be able to see her own thoughts reflected in his. So, she could have stopped it. Harry was so easy to read. He gave her so much time, so much warning, as if she were a deer he might spook if she caught his scent, but she wouldn't. She had known where this dance was leading them, where the entire evening had been leading them, perhaps their entire lives, and now that it was so close, just right in front of her, she was desperate for the moment to arrive, to claim what had been rightfully hers for so many years.

Harry's face hovered just above hers, his thumb tracing her bottom lip as he stared down at it. Their bodies were still now, lost in thick energy of watching each other. Soft music filled the air around them offering subtle encouragement. "It would change everything," he whispered.

"We've never failed an adventure, yet," she replied, feeling his thumb move with her words. It dipped down slowly to rest on her chin.

"I'm terrified," he admitted.

"Me too," she agreed. He was everything to her. If they failed - it was unthinkable.

"I'm tired of waiting," he said, as if this was something they had discussed before, as if they had mutually agreed to wait.

"Me too," she repeated, realizing that perhaps they had agreed to wait. There hadn't been words, but moments of the last year came back to her, moments where they almost could have started something, but hadn't.

"How would we tell Ron?" he asked, and she let out a soft sigh of frustration.

"I honestly don't know, but …" Hermione's hand moved up from his chest to his cheek, the stubble from his face scratched against her skin gently. "I don't think I care right now."

"I've never been a good boyfriend," he told her, as if she hadn't watched him fumble with Cho, and fail to be what Ginny needed after the war, and then trip through the next two years with this flavor and that, nothing sticking long enough for her to even remember.

"You've never been with me," she said. He was solid for her, always there when she needed him. There was no reason to expect that he would change. There wasn't another person alive who could claim that Harry Potter was for them what he was for her, not even Ron.

"I'm probably going to mess this up," he admitted, his insecurities causing him to bit at his bottom lip.

"I won't let you." She moved her hand up again, losing her fingers in the mess of hair atop his head, and pulling him closer, inches vanishing. "Just kiss me, Harry."

And, so he did.

A gentle press of lips together, tentative and new, delicious and careful, and then growing into something that needed more, demanded it with a fervor beyond any first kiss she ever experienced. Perhaps it was the build up, or the knowledge of how forbidden this was, or that it felt like she had been waiting years for this moment, but her entire body seemed to ignite in response to the combined pressure of his lips and the hand on her lower back, guiding her body to mold against his. Their kiss tasted like firewhisky, spicy and smooth. It was just one more layer of fire on top of the inferno enveloping them. Her mouth tasted him eagerly, wanting more of him, more of the firewhisky, more of him touching her. He was right. He had found a way to convert her.

Deep within her, an ache which had lay silently inside her exploded forth, letting loose everything she had shoved down, carefully hiding year after year to protect their friends and their own hearts. Every question, every wanton moment, every silly fantasy that had given her shame and made her feel like a horrible friend burst into her mind, urging her on. Years of buried temptation hit her all at once, urging on her fingers as they slid down from his chest to the hem of his white cotton t-shirt, pulling up quickly. Harry opened his eyes as she broke their embrace to shove the cloth over his head. She knew he was trying to figure out what she wanted, how far she was going to take this, but she just stared at his chest. It had been bare before her so many times. Memories flooded her in remembrance of summers at the Burrow and the year they spent living in a tent, locked away from the world. It hadn't been hers to look at then. But, now …

Now, she reached out, her fingers tentative as they whispered across his skin. He was warm from fire and firewhisky and lust. Lust for her. Merlin … she closed her eyes for a long moment as she stood before him, opening them again when she was sure that she wasn't going to flush a bright shade of scarlet at the idea of him wanting her.

"Hermione?" he asked.

"I think … I've wanted this for a lot longer than I let myself realize." She traced old battle scars on his chest, her mind racing through long dormant memories of days she had tried to forget.

"We both have," he said, leaning down to kiss her again. His hand traced down her side and over the swell of her hip. "Undo your shirt for me." He said softly. "I want to watch."

Hermione did flush at that. She felt the heat ride from her neck into her cheeks, but she nodded, taking her hands from his body. They shook for a few moments as she pulled on the first button, the one at the bottom of her shirt. Harry watched them eagerly, and she let out a breath, remembering that he was likely as excited about seeing her body in a new way as she was about his.

The first button came free of the hole. She pulled the two sides of her pajama shirt apart as she moved down to the next. Harry was going to see her breasts.

She pulled the next button loose, sliding down to the third. She heard Harry's breath hitch as she revealed more skin, working her way up.

Her eyes stayed firmly down, pointed at her ministrations, unable to watch him as he watched her. The third button came free.

She hesitated, glancing up to see him staring at her, his tongue just slightly out of his mouth, as if he could taste her. A shiver ran down her spine as she freed the final button, pulling aside her top and letting it fall to the floor. Harry's mouth parted slightly. The fire beside them sent shadows and flashes of light across his face. "You're beautiful," he said quietly.

He dipped down to kiss her shoulder gently, his tongue slipping across her skin. She bit back a sound as his hand gilded back up her body to cup her breast. His thumb slid across her nipple, drawing it to a peak, and she leaned her head back, closing her eyes to just feel the sensations of his mouth trailing down to the soft flesh before taking it in his mouth. His tongue darted and swirled around her nipple, sucking with practiced ease. Hot need pooled between her legs, causing her to push her hips into his. "Harry." The word slipped past her lips unbidden, acknowledgement of the mess he was making her.

He chuckled softly, moving her head back gently to look at him. Her eyes opened again, and she saw her own lust mirrored there, need heavy and urgent. "Here or the bed?" he asked.

It was her turn to laugh at him. She hadn't cared a second ago. He could have draped her over the overstuffed chair and taken her any way he wanted. "Bed," she said. He held her tight, turned them both, and the shifted within the house with the familiar crack of apparition.

She barely had her feet on solid ground before she was lifted up by strong arms and moved to the bed right beside them. She landed on the soft quilt with a small bounce, and Harry stood between her legs, his demeanor confident. She tried not to think about the experience that made him this way, but it flashed through her mind anyway. They could have been doing this all that time. Every stupid fling he had could have been another night of them together, this fire flaming between them, this need being satisfied over and over.

Harry's fingers found the hem of her trousers, and he grinned down at her as he slowly slid them down her legs, leaving her in her knickers. She reached out to do the same, but he grabbed her hands. "Not yet," he told her. "Lay back." Hermione moved back to lay on the bed as he climbed up beside her. He moved over her, kissing her again. Skin laid against skin, and she lost her fingers in his hair again, pulling him tightly against her as his cock rocked against her. She knew he was trying to do this somewhat slowly, to make it last, but she couldn't help but wish he was already burying himself inside of her, filling her.

"Harry," she moaned his name in disappointment as he left her mouth, sliding down to kiss her chest again.

"You are very eager," he said, teasing her. He took her other nipple into his mouth, beginning again the process of licking, biting, and sucking at the sensitive nub as Hermione arched beneath him. He gently tugged and rolled the other breast with his hand as he started to move his ministrations down again, tracing her belly with his tongue and teeth, varying the sensations with delicious unpredictability.

When he reached her knickers, Harry's hands gripped each side, tugging down with slow care. He let out a long, sensual moan as she was revealed to him. She flushed again, but he hardly could have noticed as he had tossed her knickers aside without moving his eyes. He pushed her legs apart and leaned down. Hermione wiggled beneath him, her hands clenching the quilt as his breath sent little shivers of anticipation out from her core.

His tongue touched her first. Overwhelmed by her emotions as he tasted her, Hermione closed her eyes, trying to calm down. Somehow, she and Harry had progressed from best friends to his head buried between her thighs more quickly than she could have imagined. This wasn't at all what she had expected when she had told him to kiss her. She had assumed the first time would be rush, a mess of limbs and urgent needs to fulfill. They would get to teasing and anticipation. Tender moments of intimacy and discovering each others bodies would come with time. But, Harry seemed unwilling to botch this first go. He was committed to documenting every part of her, tasting her, pulling her to her most exposed point before he even took off his trousers.

"Hermione." Her name trembled from his lips, "Let go." His fingers had joined his tongue, sliding into her with dedicated rhythmic persistence, satisfying, but not filling her, not the way he would. Fuck. She let out a moan as she saw them behind her closed lids, Harry sliding inside of her, pumping his cock into her in the same way his fingers were, his chest against hers, his teeth on her neck.

"Oh." She grabbed his hair, a reflex in response to her orgasm beginning, not wanting him to move away. It washed across her body, tantalizing pleasure spilling from the place where his tongue was spinning sinful circles against her. She cried out, pressing her hips into him. His fingers dug into her skin, adding to the delicious satisfaction.

She fell limp below him moments later, her fingers releasing his hair as her heart thumped out of control. By the time she was paying him any attention again, he was kissing the inside of her calf. Resisting the urge to yank him back up, she let him continue his lazy path, enjoying the time to bring her heart and breath back to a normal rhythm.

By the time he was back at her neck, Hermione was done waiting for him. She shoved down on his trousers, pushing them down. Harry laughed against her skin. "You're scratching me."

"You're being obnoxious. Help me," she told him, not even feeling bad that she had scratched him in her haste to get him as bloody naked as she was.

Harry wiggled his way out of his his trousers without moving off of her, and then they were there, two people, naked before each other, eyes meeting for their final reassurance that they both wanted this. She watched his eyes as he finally filled her, watch them flutter and then slide shut as he sat still, letting them both enjoy this moment that they had waited a lifetime for. "Oh, fucking hell." Harry murmured.

Hermione didn't answer. She just pulled him down to kiss him again, hard and wanting. He seemed to understand, his hips beginning to rock back and forth, the fever that filled them both urging him to a quick and powerful pace. All of the restraint he had been exhibiting seemed to have fled. With his restraint, Hermione's ability to bite her tongue seemed to leave as well. She gripped him, nails digging into his skin, her moans urging him on. Her hips rocked to meet his with each thrust, and she struggled to form a coherent thought outside of joy and desire.

Harry kissed his way to her ear and began to whisper. "You feel amazing." His voice was deep and focused, as if it took all of his remaining energy to string words together. "I've wanted you for so long." He kissed her again, his body tense as he thrust into her.

"Let go," she said, repeating his words from earlier. Her name slipped from his lips once more as he came, spilling into her. Harry stayed above her, waiting for her to meet his eyes.

"I'm never letting you go," he told her.

"I'm not going anywhere," she assured him. Harry moved to his side beside her, leaning down to kiss her shoulder.

"Come to the Ministry New Year's Party with me?" he asked.

"We always go together," she reminded him with a small laugh.

"Not like this." He kissed her again. "I don't want to hide this. Ever."

Hermione watched him carefully. She didn't want to hide him either. They would have to tell their friends about this in the next week then. "Yeah," she told him. "Let's do it."


End file.
